Savage Awakening AU? Chapter 114??. Tomb Kings (I) (Patreon)

A/N: 

CAVEAT: 

I was originally going to trash this chapter and rewrite it from scratch. 

But I didn't want to leave y'all with nothing for today--and I figure even something that isn't canon story content could be interesting--so here's a chapter 114 that can be considered AU Fanfiction, except it's by me. Maybe this is random bonus content. 

Except if enough of you like it it may become the real story? 

//

The morning sun threw a pale sheen over endless grassy plains. They lit upon a scattering of drakehide tents. Smoke curled out their tops in somber question marks.

Outside the largest tent, two men were playing chess.

One was a bald muscle-bound hulk of a man, so big that when he shifted, his bowling ball muscles strained the fabric of his oversized suit. He was Deke Wilson, Marquis of the Tomb Kings. He frowned heavily at the board.

The other was a lean yet wiry man. There was nothing remarkable about him at first glance except for his eyes. They were coal-black, very sharp and constantly twinkling—like he knew something you didn't. He was Mike Masters. The Tomb King himself.

Deke hovered a hand, hesitated, then made his move. Mike responded instantly. The board was a chaotic mess—every piece was attacking every piece; it was impossible to make sense of it. Deke grimaced, made another move—and Mike casually threw out an answer.

Deke tipped over his king. He cursed, shaking his head.

"Strange, isn't it?" said Mike, smirking. "You're the better player. So how is it that I keep winning?"

Deke threw up his big hands; his face wrinkled like a raisin. "You bullshit."

"Exactly!"

Mike let the smoke trickle out the sides of his mouth; when he smiled again, he looked like an evil dragon. "I make chaos. I do off-beat things, things small-minded fools call wrong. But I catch you off-balance—then I lunge!" He slammed his fist on the board, sending pieces flying. "And you flinch."

Deke shook his head, scowling. "Whatever."

"As in chess, as in battle, my friend!" Mike leaned back, still smirking. "Never flinch."

He took another drag of the pipe. "That's how I beat Ramos, you know."

"Yeah?"

"He was stronger than me. Foundation when I was still Level 99—but I got in his head."

Deke rolled his eyes. "Very funny."

"I try." Then Mike felt something hot against his breast pocket. "Ah. It’s our Coven friend." He pulled out a speaking crystal and held it up to his ear.

After a while—"You're joking," he said. Another pause. Then he cackled—a cackle so hard he started wheezing.

"What?" mumbled Deke.

"Elias sent someone to stop us."

"Who?" Deke's unibrow knitted.

"Zane Walker."

"The fuck?" Deke snorted. "He's making fun of us."

"That, or he's just desperate," said Mike, smirking. "I expected Eze. Yuki, maybe! But I doubt even he could afford them. So he's had to settle for the lesser Walker, it seems…"

"Is that guy even Foundation?"

"He broke through just a few days ago, same as us. He's barely Level 100." Mike twirled his pipe absently. "Shame! So all that prep was for nothing."

He'd expected to take on a top five World Ranker. Before he set out, he emptied the vault—he downed three A-rank Vials of Essence and shot himself straight to Level 104. And he wasn't just any Level 104. He was a top World Ranker and a Signed to boot.

And not just any Signed. His Signature powers had proven extremely difficult to stop. Even Dulce Ramos, who'd been World Rank #9, was helpless! His first Signature Skill was formidable enough. His second—not a single person had experienced it and lived to tell the tale. It struck in a way very, very few people could defend…

Then there was Deke.

Elias had some of the world's best intelligence; for every one mole the Tomb Kings had, Mike was sure the Coven had three. But he doubted even they'd found out that two days ago, in a secluded Cavern of Insight far from the public eye, Deke had broken through too.

Little did Elias know, his man would face two Foundation World Rankers—not one. He'd sent Zane Walker out to slaughter!

***

Hours later…

The windswept plains ended about an hour out from Silicon Coven territory. Swaying knee-length yellow grasses stretching as far as the eye could see.

The Tomb Kings marched up in a solemn line—and stopped a hundred yards out. They found Zane Walker standing there. Alone. Waiting for them.

Mike snorted. So it was true! Elias had really sent just one man. One man to face down an army.

A hefty man, granted. But with how Mike fought? It didn't matter. His mole had told him all about Zane Walker's Steel Body. He could've been made of diamond, for all Mike cared.

To either side of him, his Marquises started forward—but he held out a hand. "No, no," he chuckled. "Leave it to me. I've got this."

Then he strode out to greet him, a great big smile plastered on his face.

"Zane Walker! Who the hell do you think you are?" he said. He cocked his head. "Is Ventor an idiot? Or are you?"

He heard his men snorting and snickering behind him.

He spread his arms out wide. His black-suited army stood at rapt attention behind him; darkness poured out from them like rivers of smoke.

"Look at this beautiful fucking army I've got!" He said. "I'll take half the goddamn continent with this crew! A quarter of the World Rankings stands in front of you. And you really think you'll stop us—all on your lonesome."

Zane just stood there blinking. He seemed like a bit of a simpleton—like there were hamster wheels spinning in his head. "Yeah…?" he rumbled, scratching his head.

Mike started to laugh. Full-throated, full-body cackling—his Marquises soon joined in. Their mirth rolled down the plains.

"Ah, me!"

He put out his hand. And an axe dropped into it. It had a head of moonlit silver, sleek and shiny, misting at the edges. Brutally elegant—a serial killer's weapon.

He grinned wickedly.

"Those are some brave words, my friend! Or foolish ones. Let's find out together, shall we?"

He took a step and his aura flared. Elemental Darkness roared out of him; raging like a pyre.

He took another step—and activated his first Signature Skill.

His shadow blurred. It started to bend, started standing upright gaining color, taking human shape—and in just a second, it looked like another Mike Masters. A perfect mirror. It even cast its own shadow.

Another step—and another shadow clone stepped out. From his shadow, and from the clones. Now there were four Mike Masters stalking toward him, axes slung over their shoulders, streaming rivers of shadow. All grinning.

Another step, and there were eight. Then sixteen, and thirty-two. And then he started to run; he started to cackle, full-throated—a banshee screaming swept out from every one of them, blending together, rushing across the plains.

And a full-on army of axe murderers descended on Zane Walker. Sixty feet… fifty… Mike watched his face. Watched for that delicious moment the panic started setting in. There was no change yet—he was a stoic one! But Mike knew it was coming. Because he knew a little secret.

There was an instinct hardwired into the soul of every living animal. When you came face to face with death—true death—you couldn't help but flinch. And a tidal wave of death was falling on Zane now forty—thirty—

The man stood there, stock-still.

…What?

Twenty feet, then ten—Mikes raised their axes as high above their heads, edges gleaming, just about to drop—

Had he been scared stiff or something? He just stood there. Unmoving. Frowning a little, maybe. But that was all.

The moment of impact was fast arriving; his axes bent all the way back—

They made eye contact. Zane, and the one real Mike. And Mike's heart skipped a beat.

In that split-second, he got the most unsettling feeling—as though the man saw right through him. As though he knew!

What?!

A hundred axes descended—

And the big man stepped calmly out of the way.

Ninety-nine axes cleaved through him. And exactly one missed.

The one real axe spat its dark powers into the dirt.

And Mike felt a massive hand close around his throat; his eyes bulged. WHAT?!

Then it started crushing. He felt like his head might pop clean off his shoulders.

And suddenly he was in a great deal of pain. And extremely confused.

But he didn't panic. He gritted his teeth, rallied his wits, even as dark spots started splotching his vision. Somehow Zane had caught him—fine!

He'd still put himself straight in the path of Mike's second Signature Skill.

Mike's eyes began to glow; smolder a with smoky, shifting blackness. Their eyes met—and that was Zane's fatal mistake.

Dark Night of the Soul!

Dulce Ramos, too, had survived Mike's first strike. This had left him a vegetable.

There was a cloak over Zane's soul—some low-level Skill, spun together with some low-level Law. Dark Night ripped clean through it.

Their souls connected.

And he was somewhere else. He stood on an island, floating in a blank white void.

He'd made it to the astral plane. He'd initiated the soul duel. Yes!

Outside, time was frozen. In here, they dueled to the death! Only one of them would make it out alive. The other's soul was crippled forever; the body was left in a coma.

The thing was, Mike had two huge advantages.

First, Dark Night of the Soul let him use his Soul Weapon in duels—whereas his enemies here were unarmed.

And second—the size of your form here was based on the size of your soul. And Mike had A8 Soul Talent. One in tens of millions. Poor Dulce's Soul talent had been A6. It'd been like an adult fighting a toddler. And he had an axe. Laughably unfair.

He gripped that axe now and licked his lips. Say—where was Zane Walker, anyway? They should've spawned in the same space… odd. And come to think of it—what was with this island? He'd never had this spawn before.

He frowned down at it. It was a strange island. Peach-colored, for one. All these shallow lines ran along it, crisscrossing. Mini-fissures. These four giant piers jutted out in front of him. One split off to the side. Funny little thing. It almost looked like someone's hand.

He stilled. Now that he really looked—that peach color seemed an awful lot like skin…

His blood ran cold.

Then a darkness fell over the island. A massive oval shadow, blotting out everything.

Trembling, he looked up. And flinched. And shrieked.

For in that moment, his little eyes made eye contact with two giant gray irises staring down at him. Irises in a massive, frowning head.

Oh my god.

This man's soul—

WHAT THE HELL IS THIS MAN'S SOUL!?

Then Giant-Zane opened his mouth.

Why are you so small?

Mike panicked. He thrust his axe out between them—"Stay back!" he shrieked.

Giant-Zane looked very confused. This was his chance! Screaming, Mike chucked the axe with all the might he could muster.

It struck Zane square in the nose—and sank in deep. Up to the hilt. Bright red blood fountained out of the wound.

Only—'up to the hilt—' meant he'd managed to chop Zane's nose tip in half. And… that was about it. Blood trickled down to his lips. He frowned.

Ow.

And now Mike's axe was gone.

Mike swallowed. "Err—"He put on a wobbly grin; he was trembling all over. "Eh—heh—heh—"

The ground started shifting beneath him. The fingers started rising, closing in, making a fist—a cage—"WAIT!" he screeched.

Then they firmed up. There was a crunching, squishing sound. The sound you get when you squash a cockroach. Blood leaked out between Zane's fingers.

…Gross.

And that was the end of Mike Masters.

// 

A/N: 

Reason for total rewrite: it's a pretty unserious chapter. I think I could make a version of Mike Masters that's more of a serious, sophisticated villain--a vibe more like Javier's. Maybe the tone of this chapter is too comical for being the crushing of such a powerful Faction/Figure. 

Or maybe not? This story does lean into campy fun at times...

If y'all like it I'll keep it!